


God, The Divine & Shinra

by Scallion



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scallion/pseuds/Scallion
Summary: Rufus and Sephiroth make a pact in their youth to meet at the top and rule Shinra.
Relationships: Sephiroth & Rufus Shinra, Sephiroth/Rufus Shinra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	God, The Divine & Shinra

**Author's Note:**

> This is so self indulgent for a pairing that barely exists...

01.

They are not friends. 

They are a pact forged at their lowest.

Sephiroth delirious with whatever Hojo has given him, body twitching like a creature lives beneath his skin. Rufus, with an eye swollen shut, who has never seen more clearly than today that evil wore his father’s face.

Sephiroth wanted to be understood. Rufus wanted to be feared. 

Bloody hand clasps bloody hand.

In this lab of horrors, a promise is made.

They will meet again at their highest.

02.

They are not friends.

They are silent comrades, Sephiroth knows this when Hojo’s funding mysteriously diverts to another department rendering his plans useless for another week. 

Rufus knows this when his window shatters up on the 30th floor when he’s under house arrest yet again, Shinra’s newest grappling gun tossed carelessly amongst the broken glass.

Sephiroth finds solace in silence and the simplicity of doing nothing, Rufus finds salvation falling thirty stories, alarms blaring behind him.  
  


03.

They are not friends.

Officially, they orbit each other, a separation of the rich and the rabble. The Shinra heir and the feared general only know each other by name, orders passed down through three layers of separation.

Unofficially, they are two planets fated to crash, stars that can demolish everything in their path, that is — if they don’t burn out first.

Rufus is running, rain soaking through his impractical white coat, shotgun spark lighting up the night followed by the flash of a blade.

Sephiroth had never met anyone who arranged their own kidnappings, but then again he’s never quite met anyone like Rufus Shinra at all. It seemed Rufus was intent on burning out Shinra’s traitors until he was the only one left.

“Must you always involve me in this?”

“I never asked you to follow me,” and he says it so smugly that Sephiroth knows it’s fully what he intended.

“We’ll have to lose them eventually,” Sephiroth sighs, flying units from Shinra on the horizon.

“Follow me,” Rufus never once looks back, like his word is the undisputed law.

He will lead and everything else will fall in line or fall behind.

Sephiroth cannot say what it means when he follows along without question.

Rain pelts them as they run into an abandoned cathedral. Droplets roll off of Rufus’s eyelashes, curving down his cheek, down past pink lips, caught between the junction of his neck and collarbone.

The sirens get further and further until all they can hear is the heavy breath of one Rufus Shinra. Sephiroth unaffected walks along, watching the old stained glass windows cast an array of colors across Rufus’s golden hair.

The angels carved in the architecture bare witness to the young men, sacrilegious and obscene to all things holy.

Rufus dives between the pews; they are far too old for hide and seek but somehow he is hiding and Sephiroth seeks, like a starving man stranded, like a lonely man searching.

He finds Rufus laying flat on the ground, tapping the ground once, and then twice. Though he is confused, Sephiroth joins him staring up at the ceiling.

A one winged angel, cracked down the center stares back.

Somehow he knows Rufus wants a moment of silence so he obliges. Even the planet caves to his will, rain softening until it is nothing but a static hum.

Rufus finally sits up, “Follow me,” he says.

 _Yes_ , echoes from the floor to the cathedral ceiling, immortalized in the crevices of the depictions of the divine.


End file.
